Mine
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Sweeney Todd gets jealous when a customer takes an interest in Mrs. Lovett. Sweenett! : Rated M for future chapters. ;
1. Chapter 1

Mine

Summary: Todd doesn't like it when a customer flirts with Mrs. Lovett. Sweenett!! 

All he had wanted was a drink.

Sweeney Todd had just disposed of what looked to be his last customer for the day, and the work had made him thirsty for some gin. Though he usually didn't like to go down into the pie shop while Mrs. Lovett had customers about, he reasoned that what looked to be the beginnings of a fierce rain storm would send the customers scurrying home. He was displeased, therefore, when he trudged downstairs to find Mrs. Lovett chatting up some fop of a man. He stayed back where they couldn't see, hoping the man would leave soon.

"Ah my dear, these are the most delicious pies I have ever eaten!"

"Thank you kindly sir, please do tell your friends to come by and try them too…"

"You know, delectable as they are, these pies aren't the whole reason I come here."

"Hmm?" Mrs. Lovett was concentrating on her baking. "Another reason, dearie? What's that then?"

"Why, do be in the company of the most beautiful baker in England, of course!"

_Oh please. Pathetic._ Todd shook his head in disgust. Surely, Mrs. Lovett wouldn't fall for the flattery of this –

"Oh – well – " Mrs. Lovett stuttered and blushed. "See, look what you've done know, gone a got me all flustered when I'm trying to work …" But she was grinning, and blushing, and –

"I don't suppose I might … see you sometime? I mean, outside of your fine dining establishment?"

She would say no. He was certain of it. She may have been flattered by the attention, but there was no way she would _seriously_ want to –

"Well, I …" Mrs. Lovett thought briefly of her Mr. Todd. No, she correctly herself silently. He wasn't _her_ anything. He ignored her, took her for granted. He only paid attention to her when he wanted something, or needed to vent his rage. After all she did for him, and all she felt for him … and here? Here was a man – a handsome one – who spoke to her kindly, complemented her, and actually _wanted_ to spend time with her. Well, why the hell not?

"I'd like that, I think," she said shyly, lowering her gaze for a moment before looking back up at him. "I'm uh, not sure when I'll have the time though – maybe if you come by tomorrow, we can arrange - ?"

"Of course," he smiled as he stood up and approached her. "Until then, my dear…" He took her and kissed it, eliciting a little giggle of delight, and gave her a final, fond glance before going out the door.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the giddy Mrs. Lovett, Sweeney Todd was silently fuming only a few feet away.

_What. Was she. THINKING!?!_

Well, he didn't care. He couldn't. She could see any fool she liked, so long as no one caught on their little business arrangement. What had he come down for? Ah yes. Gin.

Striding past the baker, who was now humming and annoyingly happy, he got out the bottle and poured himself a glass. Mrs. Lovett seemed to be in her own little world, but eventually, she glanced up and saw him.

"Oh, hello there, Mr. T," she said, and he merely grunted in response. Used to his manners, she didn't let his dark mood dampen her spirits, and merely continued her cheery humming and baking. Only when she heard his voice again did she again look up.

"Pathetic," he snarled.

Mrs. Lovett regarded him, puzzled. "'Scuse me?"

"You … fawning all over that fop that just left …" He glared at her. For some reason he couldn't explain, he was angry. Irrepressibly angry.

For once, she regarded him coolly, ceasing her work, her hands on her hips. "He was fawning all over me, more like. And what's wrong with that? After all, it's not like I've got any other prospects…" She looked pointedly at him, but he had suddenly become very interested in the contents of his gin glass. He scowled at his own reflection.

_Foolish, impossible, infuriating, irritating, maddening woman!_

"You're actually going to let him …?"

"Court me? Why not? He handsome, he's kind, he _listens –_" another pointed look – "It's about time I had some romance in me life –"

"You can't!" He stood up now, almost shouting, glaring at her. She felt her pulse quicken with fear and he advanced upon her. Once again, he backed her against a well, his hand at her throat. This time, however, her fear was mixed with anger. Her dark brown eyes blazed at him, strong and defiant.

"Why not?"

"Because you're MINE!" He shouted. The words were out before he could even stop to realize what he was saying. The rage, the possession, surged through him. He saw her pale, flawless skin, the smooth curves of her body that he'd pretended not to notice… seemingly hypnotized, he watched the rise and fall of her all-too-ample breasts as she breathed, and he felt the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers.

He leaned in so their lips were almost touching, brushed them past her cheek, and whispered in her ear, "Do you hear me? You're mine. You belong to me." He pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were wide, almost pleading her, her lips so close … "Mine…" he repeated softly, and leaned forward to crush his mouth with hers.

The kiss was hard, passionate, frantic, his tongue demanding and gaining access into her mouth, dueling furious with her own, and winning. His lips left hers to devour her neck, pulling down her dress to expose the smooth skin of her should, nipping and kissing as she sighed and whimpered. For once, he did not think of revenge, or brood on his wrongs. In this moment, all that mattered was the mindless, boundless heat between them. Their bodies were pressed tight together, as if they couldn't get close enough, and somewhere along the line she had managed to wind her slender arms around him …

He broke the kiss, eliciting a moan of protest from her. "Come on then," he growled, grabbing her hand and heading for the stairs, her bedroom. Half-swooning, her progress was too slow for him, and he impatiently scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.

TBC … if you like it?


	2. Chapter 2

Mine

Summary: Todd doesn't like it when a customer flirts with Mrs. Lovett. Sweenett!! 

A/N: Sorry, I should've mentioned this earlier: for the purposes of this story, Lucy died when she took the poison, and did NOT survive to be the crazy old beggar woman who ruined my wonderful Sweenett fantasies. 'Kay? Just go with it.

Chapter 2: Taking Over Me

_This can't be possibly be happening._

That was what Nellie Lovett thought, as she felt his mouth on hers, his body pressed tight against her own, his hand in hers and then his arms around her as he literally swept her off her feet. A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, the sudden pounding of rain – the dramatic sounds of the storm, come at last, only heightened her sense of unreality. _This can't be happening._

Of course, that wasn't the only thing she was thinking. Other thoughts included _yes, please, now, _and _finally!_ Another thought, further back in her mind, was _bloody hell, if I'd known all it woulda taken was me showing some interest for another man, I would've thrown meself at every bloke that came through the bloody door!_ Of course, no man had ever affected her like Mr. Todd. Not the fop she'd been flirting with, not any of her friendlier male customers, not even her dear Albert. She had loved him, true enough – not in the beginning, when he had come courting – but she had grown to love him deeply. He never made her feel this way though.

Giddy, breathless, dizzy with anticipation. Her pulse never quickened at the sight of him, and dreams of him never burned her body and mind. Albert was like a good swig of gin, or a heavy, soft blanket wrapped around oneself on a night of bitter cold, or a hearty meal, or a good long nap – a solid, comforting, dependable pleasure, but bless him, nothing to set a woman's heart racing. He had been a tender, if not particularly adept lover. Not that Mrs. Lovett had had anyone to compare him to, of course.

Until now.

He tossed her unceremoniously on the bed, hastening to follow her, hovering over her, their lips meeting again eagerly. She fisted he hands in his hair before running them down his nicely muscled back, eliciting a growl of pleasure from him that set her heart racing even faster. Her hands shook as they moved to undo his shirt. She could feel his own try to undo all her bothersome laces and ties, and he grumbled something incoherent, seeming frustrated with the amount of clothing in his way.

He pulled away from her briefly, and her eyes opened wide when she saw the flicker of silver in the darkness of the bedroom. _No. _Not like this. Not after a start so promising. Was her dream come true about to be turned into a hellish nightmare? But her fear was unfounded, as he deftly used the blade to cut through the layers of clothing which had so irritated him, and soon, she was virtually naked beneath him.

"Here now – do you – do you – do you know how much I paid for that dress? That was brand new, that was!" She was completely unnerved, unprepared, and she wanted him so badly it was frightening. "Do you have any idea how that cost me –"

He stopped her mouth with is own. He kissed her hard, his bare chest pressed against her own (she'd somehow managed to get his shirt off), and she could feel him, his hardness against her thigh, the evidence of his own arousal as tangible as hers.

He broke the kiss and looked deeply into her eyes, those black depths boring into her brown ones. Absently, his hands toyed with her vivid curls. He took a breath, and spoke as if her were saying something deep and very profound, punctuating each word with a kiss:

"You. Talk. Too. Much."

"And you don't listen enough," she shot back, his touch maddening her, his almost-teasing tone as alluring as it was unsettling.

"Oh I'll listen, pet. I'll listen to you sigh, whimper, moan, scream …" She gasped as he left a trail of kisses down her neck, while his hands massaged her breasts, his nimble fingers tormenting her hard nipples, and when his lips trailed down to her left breast and his mouth closed around her nipple, she did indeed let out a whimper of pleasure. His smile was a smirk, not his usual expression of murderous glee, but still dangerous … which was of course, part of the appeal. He did the same thing to her other breast, much to her delight.

She didn't know exactly how his pants came off. She just knew that, after all their kisses and caresses, they had finally come to this, each naked before the other, him poised above her, ready to…

He entered her in one smooth, hard thrust, causing her to cry out in a pleasure so intense it was almost pain. His mind was emptied of coherent thought, and instinct took over. His rhythm was fast, hard, savage, and she matched it, arching her body to meet his, practically howling in delight when his fingers worked where there bodies were joined, as with every thrust he seemed to hit that spot inside her that made her nearly die with ecstasy. Their moans and sighs, their half-conscious words of endearment and encouraged mingled together as they coupled furiously, both having been denied this particular pleasure for far, far too long.

He felt he could drown in her, lose himself in her, in the warm wet perfection of her – god she felt so _good_ – and yes, this was how he wanted her, helpless with pleasure, unable and unwilling to resist him. This infuriating, intoxicating, amazing woman was _his_. His and no one else's. And she was close. So close. He could tell.

"Come for me," he gasped, and he went still faster, spurred on by her encouragements. He felt her body spasm and shake around him, urging him on to his own powerful release as he came deep inside her.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her, both of them panting, exhausted, their minds blissfully empty of anything but satisfaction as they lay there in the dark. The storm has raged outside and continued to do so, quite loudly. It was a good thing too, or they might have awakened poor young Toby from his gin-soaked slumber. However, they had hardly noticed the rain, focused as they were on the intense pleasure they had to give each other.

After another moment he rolled off of her, still catching his breath, and onto his side. As his pulse slowed, coherent thought returned, and it was not pleasant. _What have I done?_ His impulses had led him down a path on which he did not belong.

He was Sweeney Todd. His only purpose in life was revenge. Other pursuits, other pleasure were merely a distraction on his quest to avenge his dear Lucy.

Lucy …

It hurt to think of her. Always. Especially now. Even knowing she was dead, somehow, this still felt like betrayal.

He shook off her hand when Mrs. Lovett touched his shoulder. Inwardly, she sighed. That was it then? Was this just to be a momentary lapse, with no permanent change between them? Perhaps she'd wake up tomorrow to find this all a dream. A tear trailed down her cheek at the very thought.

He shifted in the bed, sat up, and started to reach for his discarded clothes.

"Please." Her voice was so soft he almost didn't hear it. Still, he stopped what he was doing, and listened. "Please, just … stay here with me. Just for tonight. It's cold, love." As if to prove her point, she shivered. You don't have to … we don't have to … we'll just lie here. That's all. Alright?"

A pause that seemed to last an eternity, as she waited for his response. "Alright," he said tonelessly. As he settled back into the bed, he could've sworn he _felt_ her smiling in the dark. Smart enough to know she shouldn't try and touch him again, she nevertheless reveled in the fact that she remained by her side. Not wanting to miss a moment of his presence beside her, she still fell asleep more quickly than she wanted to.

He, however, lay awake, brooding, as he always did, his thoughts a tangle of anger, guilt, confusion, and still, despite himself, desire for Nellie Lovett.

His Lucy had been so very suited to him. Well, the old him. Benjamin Barker. But, as he had told this woman that now slept so contentedly beside him, that man was dead. And the simple truth, though he dared not to admit it even to himself, was that _she_ was far better to suited to the man he was now than his poor lost Lucy could ever be.

And she was right. It _was_ cold.


	3. Chapter 3

Mine

Mr. Todd doesn't like it when Mrs. Lovett flirts with a customer? Sweenett!! 

Chapter 3: Aftermath

When he woke up, his arms were around her.

He wasn't exactly sure how it happened. He vaguely remembered sometime in the night, when the storm had settled down to a steady rain, shivering, half-awoken by the cold. He must've turned to the most obvious source of warmth … her. And here she was, curled into his chest, her breathing soft and steady, looking more content than he had ever seen her look before.

She also looked strangely ... _innocent_, almost child-like. Thinking of Mrs. Lovett as innocent struck him as so absurd that he almost laughed at the thought. He feared waking her, though. He wasn't sure what was going to happen when her eyes opened, but he had a feeling he had reached a point of no return with her. They could not simply pretend that nothing had happened between them. The dynamics of their relationship were permanently and fundamentally changed.

As she slept, he found himself studying her features. Her skin was so pale, it made the circles under her eyes look like dark bruises. So he wasn't the only one that slept badly, then? Why would _she_ lose sleep? He'd never thought about that before, never let himself care enough to notice. Her nose was small, her cheekbones high, her lashes dark and long, her lips rosy and full. Her curls, an untamable and vivid red, framed her face like a strange, not-so-heavenly halo.

One of those curls trailed across her face, moving slightly as she breathed. Absently, he brushed the stray hair aside and tucked it behind her ear. This proved to be a bad impulse, however, as it caused her to stir from her slumber. She shifted and stretched in the bed as her eyes fluttered open – and they opened quite wide when they realized what they were looking at.

"Mr. T," she said softly, breathlessly, as if speaking too loud might cause him to disappear. He regarded her with what he hoped was an impassive expression.

"What?"

"You're – bloody hell – you're still _here_!"

"I agreed to stay, didn't I? You think I'd've changed me mind in the middle of the night?"

"Thought I'd wake up to find this all a dream, I did." She said softly, daring to smile at him. She saw the briefest hint of a smile on his face in response.

"No. That fop of yours, he was a dream, though."

Mrs. Lovett almost giggled. "Hm? He seemed real enough to me. _Handsomely_ real –"

In an instant he was straddling her, his weight pressing on her, heavy, almost painful. "Careful, love," he whispered, with the hint of a demonic glint in his eye, "or I shall have to invite him up for a free shave."

Mrs. Lovett could not tell where her fear of him ended and her desire for him began. Whatever else Sweeney Todd was, he was exciting. He made her feel alive, whether he was putting a razor to her throat or making her scream with pleasure in bed. And, most thrilling of all, he had called her for his own, claimed her in a single word: _mine_.

"I was only joking, my dear," she said softly. "Don't care about him at all. You know that."

"Good." His voice was soft yet savage, and she could feel his body once again responding to hers. She pulled his head down for a kiss, and they soon found themselves riding the waves of pleasure again, coupling with an intensity that seemed close to madness, as dawn streaked the sky.

The next thing Sweeney Todd remembered, he was in the bed alone. He seemed to have nodded off again after the second time. Surprised that she had been the first to get up, he gathered up his clothes and quickly dressed himself. Of his feelings, he knew nothing for certain, except that he was desperately hungry.

For a man who slept little and ate less, this was an oddity in itself. But the scent of food coming from the kitchen made his stomach growl, so, after a moment's hesitation, he entered, to find Mrs. Lovett busy at work. There was a modest but appetizing-looking breakfast of toast and eggs set out for him, and she was busy making her pies.

"Mrs. Lovett." She started at the sound of his voice, but quickly recovered herself, smiling hesitantly at him.

"Morning. Bit of a late start for me today …" she blushed a little. "… breakfast, then?"

Feeling it was wiser not to speak, he merely nodded and sat down. He ate all that was in front of him, causing Mrs. Lovett's eyes to widen when she glanced up from her work. Surprised but pleased, she still did not feel confident enough to break the silence until he did.

"Where's the lad?"

"Sent him on an errand before the rush. Seems quite energetic today, he does. Slept right through that storm, bless him."

"Bless all that gin he drunk, is more like. They'll be none left for anyone else," Mr. Todd complained, but there was no real malice in his voice, only mild annoyance. Even in his single-minded focus, he had not failed to notice how quickly she had come to dote on the lad, as if he were he very own son.

"Well, it's a good job he drunk it, innit? Or he might've heard …" She stopped, locked eyes with Mr. Todd, and blushed even more deeply. He smirked. Part of him wanted to retreat into his usual thoughts of revenge, and forgot all the confusion last night had brought him, but another part of him was struggling with a growing sense of amusement.

"… the storm." He finished for her. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Is that what there calling it these days, then?" She could've sworn he almost laughed at that. It was so odd to think that she was actually joking with Mr. Todd about something other than turning his customers into meat pies.

Speaking of which … just then, she saw a man making his way up the stairs to Mr. Todd's parlor. He must've seen it too, for he stood up. "It appears it's time for me to get to work as well." There was still that bright, almost (_almost?_) mad glint in his eye that made her both afraid for him and afraid of him. She nodded back, watched as he ascended, looking a long time after he had gone. Only when Toby returned with the baking supplies (not meat, of course, but the rest) did she start out of her reverie. She had been think many things, her thoughts swirling together almost to the point of incoherence, but chief among them, concerning Mr. Todd, was, _what the hell happens now?_

A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed! Please continue; it's what keeps me writing. Also, hope you all had a very happy Hanukah, Christmas, Kwanza, etc. – whatever holiday you celebrate this season, hope you got lots of lovely presents (for example, a set of custom razors, a meat pie, or "Sweeney Todd" two-disc special edition DVD!) ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Mine

Mr. Todd doesn't like it when Mrs. Lovett flirts with a customer? Sweenett!! 

Chapter 4: Patterns

Mr. Todd was not in her bed that night.

She sighed, tossing and turning as she wished for him in vain. She could hear him pacing restlessly above her head, the soft thumps on the boards seeming to keep time with the beating of her own heart. In the morning, she could tell he hadn't slept. He said and ate very little, looking drawn, and snappedat her if she dared to speak to him.

Toby, seeing how this distressed her, attempted to provide the distraction of his own sincere affections. Indeed, the boy fulfilled her long-dormant desire to have an object for her motherly love, but he could not keep her from worrying about the barber. It went on like this for a few days. He still serviced his customers; she still baked some of them into her disturbingly tasty pies. Their familiar pattern, business as usual.

Then the weather, which had warmed up for a few days, grew particularly cold again. Sweeney Todd could feel himself growing weak and unsteady from lack of sleep. Normally, he would at least doze off for a few hours as he brooded in his chair, but the last few nights he had lost of even that brief respite. And so, here he was, again.

He said nothing, merely stood in the doorway of her bedroom. She seemed to sense his presence and turned, staring at him. It was a moment before she found the nerve to speak.

"Well, lay your weary bones down then, why don't you? You know there's room enough for both of us." She hoped her voice sounded casual and careless, despite the slight quiver in it. Slowly, he did as she said, removing his outer clothing and pulling the heavy covers over himself. As he settled into the bed, he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding all day, and felt his body relax despite himself. Mrs. Lovett's hand caressed his back lightly. This time, he had neither the strength nor the desire to shake off her touch.

"My poor dear. Haven't slept in days, have you?" For an answer, and to her surprise, her turned and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed and buried her face in his shoulder, nuzzling his neck as she dared to whisper, "I missed you."

"S'cold," was all he could mutter into her hair in response. He felt her smile against his skin, warming him. Why did she have such an affect on him? Why did closing off from her make him so desperately lonely? Why did all his faded memories of his old life seem such a cold comfort when she was wrapped in his arms? She was supposed to be _his _… not the other way around.

They did not have sex that night; both were too tired and worn from work and lack of sleep. Afterwards though, they fell into a pattern; he would pace for a few hours upstairs, and eventually find his way to her bed, where sleep would finally come. Of course, many times, sleep would come only after they had given in to their passions. Their physical enjoyment of the act did not fade with repetition; if anything, it seemed to grow, as they learned the lessons of each other's bodies, how to please and tease and satisfy each other's needs. Eventually, Todd gave up turning away from her afterwards, and most nights, he found himself holding her with a tenderness he otherwise kept in check.

On the surface, during the day, it seemed little had changed between them. Toby did noticed that his mum chatted a little less and smiled a little more, and that Mr. Todd did not snap and sulk quite so much. He was also a smarter and worldlier boy than either of them gave him credit for, and more than once had inadvertently seen the two of them emerge together from Mrs. Lovett's bedroom in the morning. He didn't exactly like Mr. Todd, but he was willing to put up with him for the sake of his dear mum and her happiness. Unbeknownst to Toby, Mr. Todd also harbored a similar sentiment regarding him.

As much as she enjoyed being with him, Mrs. Lovett knew the primary force that drove Sweeney Todd was revenge. Still, she dared to hope that after he had finally achieved his goal of killing the judge, he might be able to let go of the past and see a future with her. As time passed without this happening, however, she felt him drawing away again. His moods darkened, and he paced longer and longer, coming to her bed very late, or even not at all. When they made love, it was often frantic, a desperate effort on his part to feel something, anything, other than despair, anger, and that painful hunger for revenge.

She did not know how to help him. She was his business partner, his accomplice, his lover, the warm bed he came to on cold nights, but she did not know how to help him beyond that. As she did when she felt helpless, she chattered more, about nothing, about anything, about her ridiculous dreams of a bucolic life with him, him and her Toby, living like a proper family by the sea. The words sounded hollow and foolish even in her own ears, but she could not stop the nonsense from spilling out of her mouth. She wished he'd say something other than automatically and insincerely agreeing with her, even if it was only to tell her that she needed to shut up.

One morning, she brought him up some breakfast; even though she knew he'd been barely eating lately, she was determined not to have him waste away. He was staring out the window when she entered, his back to her, revealing nothing.

"Mr. T? Can I ask you a question?" Silence. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her. She almost started to leave the shop.

"What?"

She hesitated, and then blurted it out: "What did your Lucy look like?" More silence, but this time of a different sort. "Can't really remember, can you?"

"She had yellow hair," he said softly. Mrs. Lovett hesitated for a beat, and then moved closer to him.

"You gotta leave this all behind you now, love. She's gone." Yes, Lucy was gone. Even though Mrs. Lovett has warned her not to go the judge's house. And even though afterwards, she had begged her not harm herself, told her to think of poor little Johanna, of what would happen to her without a mother.

Mrs. Lovett had not found Lucy Barker as repugnant as people might have thought. She had even pitied her. But, to her way of thinking, his "perfect" Lucy had one fatal and unforgivable flaw: she could not see beyond her own pain to stay alive for someone who needed her, her own _child_.

"Life is for the alive, my dear," she continued softly. "We could have a life, us two. Maybe not like I dreamed. Maybe not like you remember. But we could get by."

He turned to look at her then. His eyes searched hers, seeking something to hold on to, something to believe in. His hand reached up to caress her face, his thumb brushing her cheek as she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his fingers. Except for how they began, he rarely touched her like this outside of the bedroom. Now, as she opened her eyes again, she saw something in his … something almost like … hope?

"Mr. Todd! Mrs. Lovett, ma'am!" Anthony burst in, and the moment was gone. He burst in and drew her Mr. Todd back into the darkness, his revenge close, and once again, his only focus. His plan to lure the judge to the shop seemed quite clever, and quite simple. He'd have her Toby deliver the letter.

"Don't you think you should leave the boy alone?" He gave her one of his dark looks, and she knew better than to argue. She left him, wiping away a stray tear as she hurried down the stairs and called the lad as he bid. Well, what had she expected? She had been fooling herself to think that she might actually matter to him. The only thing that mattered to him was the bloody old judge, and getting his revenge.

For all his violent outbursts, her – no, not_ her_ – Mr. Todd followed a predictable pattern. The need for revenge wore him down, and he came to her for rest and pleasurable distraction. Once he had his fill of that, and his chance for revenge grew close again, he cast her off as easily as old cloak. That's all she was to him, nothing more.

And the worst of it was, her patterns were as predictable as his. For she took whatever he offered, be it cruelty or kindness, passion or possession, rage or indifference, and she loved him still.

A/N: Okay, I know this was a bit of a downer, but 'Sweeney Todd' isn't exactly a rainbows and sunshine, is it? It should eventually get a bit more uplifting. Also, wow – all those reviews! Gah. You like me. You really like me. *sniff sniff* Pardon, I'm having an attack of the warm fuzzies. TBC!


	5. Chapter 5

Mine

Mr. Todd doesn't like it when Mrs. Lovett flirts with a customer? Sweenett!! 

A/N: For those of you who've asked, yes, Lucy is legitimately dead in this story (please see author's note from Chapter 2). Sorry for not stating that earlier.

Also, please note that this chapter begins just after Mr. Todd has killed the judge. No need for to write what would amount to movie-scene recaps in my fanfic, right?

Chapter 5: Mercy

"_Rest now my friend… rest now forever … sleep now the untroubled sleep of the angels …_"

_Revenge was bliss. _

_Bliss._ He felt somehow calm and excited at the same time. It was strange. It was wondrous. _Bliss, revenge was bliss._ Nothing could match it, the savage joy of wrongs avenged by blood. And oh, he felt such a deep, dark satisfaction at having finally –

But his bliss was interrupted by a sound, a soft thud, and he turned. Someone was hiding in the trunk.

Well. So much for the rest of his friend. It appeared there was one more thing to dispose of first, a few more precious rubies that needed to drip from his blade.

"Come for a shave, have you lad?"

"N-n-no – I –"

He forced the boy out of the trunk and onto his chair. A strangely delicate-featured thing he was, his voice high and quavering, but Mr. Todd took little notice of the oddly familiar face. "Everybody needs a shave…"

He lifted his razor, preparing to strike as he had done so many times before, when he heard it: the unmistakable sound of Mrs. Lovett's scream.

Panic seized him. An ice-cold fist seemed to squeeze around his heart. He leaned in, glared at the boy, hissed "Forget my face," and ran downstairs to his accomplice's aid.

"Die! God in heaven, DIE!" Mrs. Lovett screamed as Judge Turpin clutched at her skirts, blood gurgling in his mouth, in his throat, gasping and trying to speak. She finally tore away from his grasp, and still his hands stretched out, his eyes wildly darting towards her even as they glazed over. Then, at last, the grasping hands fell, and those horrible eyes closed, and the stubborn bastard did as she commanded, and succumbed to his death.

Mrs. Lovett had barely a moment's breath to recover from her fright when she was given another one – but it was only Mr. T., covered in the blood of his handiwork and looking as scared as she felt.

"Why did you scream?"

"Oh, he was clutching at me dress, but he's finished now," she gasped, trying to regain her composure.

"Bloody hell, woman! I thought you were – I was –" No. He wouldn't say it. He wouldn't even admit it to himself. Not now.

"Open the door." She looked at him blankly. He grabbed her arm, roughly, and shoved her towards the bake oven. "Open the door, I said!"

He pretended not to notice her hurt expression as she complied. "We won't be using the meat then?" She asked timidly, indicating the judge and the beadle.

"No," Mr. Todd said, his voice harsh with hatred. "I want these two to burn."

He didn't add _in the flames of hell_, but he didn't need to. Mrs. Lovett gathered that that was the general idea. The practical part of her said it was a shame to waste all that meat – the beadle was especially plump – but as always, her desperate adoration of Sweeney Todd overrode any other concerns.

She watched as he tossed the bodies into the flames, first the beadle's and then the judge's. Then he stood in front of the open oven to watch them burn, seeming fascinated, and Mrs. Lovett began to worry.

Even from where she was standing, she felt uncomfortably hot, but he didn't seem to be bothered by his proximity to the fire at all. Quite the opposite, in fact; he seemed like a moth, hypnotized, entranced, drawing closer and closer …

Not caring if she made him angry, she pulled him away and slammed the door shut. He looked at her blankly – not mad, as she had expected, but almost … confused. Just to think of something happening to him … she swallowed.

"You can keep looking through the grate here if you like," she said softly. Seeming to come back to himself, he slowly shook his head.

"No," he said tiredly, "It's done."

He looked around and seemed to remember something. "The boy."

_Oh god. Toby. My Toby._ Mrs. Lovett's eyes filled with tears as the demonic glint returned to Mr. Todd's eyes. She almost hoped he'd escaped. Maybe he wouldn't go to the law. Maybe they … maybe _she_ could convince him not to … there had to be a way!

"We need to find him," Mr. Todd said grimly, but he needn't have bothered. A whimper made them both turn to Toby's hiding place. He had been heading for the sewers, but had cut his harm on something sharp, and he had not been able to stifle the small sound of pain.

"Toby, oh Toby!" Mrs. Lovett gasped, as Mr. Todd dragged him into the light, razor in hand.

"Mum!" Toby screamed. "Please mum! Don't let him hurt me! Don't –"

"Mr. Todd – Sweeney – please – please –"

"What would you have me do?" He screamed at her, still clutching the struggling lad in his grasp. "You said it yourself, he'll go to the law!"

"No, no, he won't, will you Toby love? I'll make him swear not to, no, no, he won't do that to his mum, not to his mum!" She was crying now, near hysterical, but Sweeney Todd was unmoved, and his razor was ready –

"NO!" Wrenching the crying Toby from his grasp, she threw herself over the boy, shielding him from her lover's wrath. "NO, NO, NO, please, please! Not Toby! Not again, not again!" She fell to her knees, clutching the terrified boy, as they sobbed in each other's arms.

He looked at her then, at them. Really looked. They were clinging to each other like life itself. Toby's face was buried in her arms, whimpering, "Mum, mum," over and over. Both their bodies were shaking, their fear and their love painfully obvious, even to him. Sweeney Todd had never really cared for the boy, but the way Mrs. Lovett, felt about him …well, it was unmistakable. He had seen that kind of love before.

_Fifteen years. Fifteen years, sweating, in a living hell, on a false charge. Fifteen years dreaming, I might come home to a wife and child._

Wife and child. Mother and child. Mother and son.

Defeated, Sweeney Todd lowered his blade. For all his darkness, for all the lives he had taken, for all the horrible things he had done, for all the humanity he had lost… well, apparently, there were still lines that even he could not cross. He could not bring himself to rip the lad from Mrs. Lovett's arms and force her to watch as he slit his throat.

So he brought his fist down on the back of Toby's neck instead.

Mrs. Lovett let out a little scream as Toby slumped in her embrace. She looked up at Mr. Todd with a tear-streaked face and gasped, "Is he –?"

"No," he said softly, "I just knocked him out."

"Oh," Mrs. Lovett breathed, weeping again, this time with relief. Mr. Todd watched as she cradled Toby in her arms and crooned to him: "Nothing's gonna harm you, nothing's gonna harm you, love, nothing's gonna harm you, darlin', not while I'm around." She kissed and cradled him like an infant, rocking back and forth.

Strange, how he suddenly felt a tightness in his throat, as he watched her with the boy. In their time together, he had thought of Mrs. Lovett as many things, but he had never thought of her as a mother.

At least, not until now.


	6. Chapter 6

Mine

Mr. Todd doesn't like it when Mrs. Lovett flirts with a customer? Sweenett!! 

Chapter 6: Always

It seemed almost an eternity that he stood there, watching her, watching them, the sound of her sobs gradually subsiding as she began to calm down. He could give her this time to compose herself. His revenge was complete; he could afford to be patient now.

Eventually, she looked up at him, wiping her eyes.

"Thank you, Mr. T."

Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded. Even as her eyes still shone with tears, he could see her expression change, her practicality taking over.

"You look a fright, you do. All that blood, I'll never get it out of your clothes no matter how much I scrub …"

He ignored this. "What'll we do with the boy when he wakes up?"

She appeared to contemplate this, and then, the slight tilt of her head and the flash of her eyes told him that she had another clever little idea.

"Yes … and he's open all hours too … well then, I'll run down to the apothecary 'round the corner," she muttered, wincing apologetically as he shuddered, no doubt remembering Lucy and the arsenic. "He sells something that makes the memory go all fuzzy… I'll give it to Toby, and he'll sleep sound, and when he wakes, well, whatever he remembers … we'll … we'll just tell it was a horrible nightmare. We'll destroy all the evidence of course." She smiled slightly, seeming pleased with her plan, but Sweeney Todd was skeptical.

"You really think he'll believe it was all a dream?"

"He'll believe what he wants to believe, my love." She locked eyes with him. "We all do."

"Alright. You go to the apothecary. I'll start cleaning up here." He looked at her, but she did not move. "Well?"

Her gaze returned to Toby, the lad she still clutched and cradled in her arms. "I don't want to leave him … down here." She did not add _with you_, but she didn't have to; he easily gathered her meaning, and could hardly blame her for her thoughts.

"Mrs. Lovett … Nellie … If I had decided on killing him, I would have done it before. I won't harm the boy. I promise." He looked at her, holding her gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Mrs. Lovett swallowed, looking up at him. Anyone else who would have seen him looking as he did, wild hair, black eyes, pale as death, and covered with blood … a demon, they would've called him. But _she _saw something alive, something human, something familiar, and she answered him: "Yes. I do." And God help her, it was the truth too. She trusted him, her murderous lover, with the life of her precious little Toby.

"Alright then." Gently, she lay the boy down on the ground. Todd held out his hand to help her off the ground, and pulled her up. She looked at him for a moment. Even like this, his pale face streaked with red … he was beautiful.

"I won't be long," she whispered, and fairly flew up the stairs.

Underneath the turbulence of all her emotions, as she made her way to the apothecary, was the knowledge that, for the first time, Sweeney Todd had called her by her first name.

Mechanically, he set about cleaning up - the bones, the blood - disposing of it all as best he could. He would have to bury what did not burn. It was not easy work, he soon discovered – how the hell had she managed to do all this by herself? What a bloody wonder that woman was.

Fortunately, he was too busy concentrating on the work to think about anything else – specifically, about what would happen now that he had finally achieved his precious revenge. Still, part of him couldn't help but wonder – what would it be like, to be purposeless? Would it be freeing or frightening? Or both?

He was finishing up when Mrs. Lovett returned, hastening down the stairs, a bottle in her hand. Toby had not moved from where she'd laid him down, peacefully sleeping.

She looked around at Mr. Todd's handiwork, and seemed to approve of his cleaning skills, for she gave a little nod and a smile. As he silently watched, she propped Toby up, shook him slightly to wake him. Todd held his breath; this was the dangerous part.  
"Mum?" Toby said groggily, sniffing the bottle that was so close to his face. "What's that?"

She swallowed. "It's medicine, my love. You're sick. Drink it down like a good lad."

He seemed to wake up more, his brow furrowing. "Don't feel sick …"

"Listen to your mum, now, dear. You _are_ sick. This'll make you better."

He hesitated for a moment longer, then drank it as she bid. He coughed rather violently, making Mrs. Lovett's gasp with worry, but eventually, the coughs subsided and he lay down again, his breathing slow and steady, his sleep even deeper than before. She stroked his hair.

"That's my good boy. Nothing's gonna harm you, love, not while I'm around…" She looked up at Mr. Todd. "I'll just carry him upstairs and put him to bed. I'll be back, alright?" He only nodded. Smiling tenderly, she scooped the boy up in her arms and carried him away.

It seemed a long time that she was gone, and he no longer had any work to distract himself from his thoughts. _What now?_ What was there after revenge? It was a disturbing question. Even more disturbing though, was that when he attempted to find an answer, all he could see was her face.

"Mr. T!" She burst back down into the cellar, and he started out of his reverie. Had someone found them out? "Oh Mr. T., that Anthony and your Johanna, they gave me such a fright! I had a hard time calming the poor girl down, poor thing, poor thing …it's good they had to leave in a hurry – I'm so sorry you didn't get to see her – but oh, Mr. T., she was dressed like a lad, and she _said_ – you didn't –"

"_Oh my god_." Those delicate features. That high, unmanly voice. A flash of yellow hair showing from beneath the hat. He looked at Mrs. Lovett, a horrible comprehension dawning on his features. If she hadn't screamed … he would have …

He fell to his knees with the weight of it, the shock of it. _What had he become?_ All the lives he had taken, they were nothing compared to even the possibility of hurting his daughter, Johanna. "What have I done?"

Instantly, Mrs. Lovett was kneeling beside him, her arms around him, desperate to comfort him. "There, there, love, you didn't do anything, all you did was give her a little fright, she's safe, she's with her love she is, they'll be safe and happy together now." Mindlessly, he laid his head on her shoulder. They stayed like that for a moment, and then he felt her lifting him up.

"Come on then," she said gently, eminently practical and yet appropriate as always. "Let's get you cleaned up." They went upstairs.

Matter-of-factly, she helped him out of his clothes, and for once, it was not a matter of seduction. She drew a bath for him, and left him for a moment to dash back downstairs, tossing his bloodied garments into the flames. She went back upstairs and scrubbed him clean. He offered no resistance, seeming exhausted, half-dead, and a stark contrast to her adrenaline-fueled productivity. She helped him out of the tub, but when she began to towel him off, he clutched her hand, the faintest glimmer of annoyance in his eye. "_I_ can do it," he growled, and she couldn't help smiling. It appeared her Mr. T. was back in the land of the living. Then her eyes locked with his, and the intensity of his gaze made the smile slip off her lips and took her breath away – whether in entrancement or dread, she did not know.

"Why?" He asked her.

She looked at him, confused. "Why what?"

"Why do you … all this … I almost killed Toby … I almost killed …" he stopped, unable to say her name, "…Why have you helped me so? Why do you _still_ help me? Why do you do all this?"

Her eyes searched his, her expression incredulous. "_Why_? Do you not know? Do you not realize, after all this time, after all we've … after all I've done, that I …?"

"What?"

She swallowed nervously. She'd rather face all of his razors at once than answer this question. If she told him, what if he threw it back in her face? But she had to. Now or never.

"I love you." She waited for him to respond.

And waited.

And waited.

Yet he said nothing, merely looked at her in confusion, as if he could not fathom what she meant. After a long, torturous moment, he finally began to speak.

"But … how … why? How can you possibly … why do you love me?"

Mrs. Lovett took a breath. "Well, I always had a fondness for you, I did… before," she said softly, "and then when you come back, I could see in your eyes … all that pain, at that loss … and I thought to myself 'I know what that feels like.' I thought I could help you, I thought I could heal you… I thought …" her voice quavered.

"You're a dark jewel, Sweeney, you are, and I shouldn't have let it happen … shouldn't have let you take over me heart, shouldn't have let you conquer me completely, but … no one and nothing has ever excited me so, made me feel as alive as you do. Don't you see what you do to me? I can't help it anymore than I can help breathing. I love you."

He stared at her, and she couldn't fathom his expression. Then, very softly, he said, "Say it again."

"What? Say what?"

"That last part. Say it again." He paused, seeming almost desperate. "Please."

She looked at him, comprehension dawning. "I … love you?"

He took her face in his hands, the towel dropping between them. "Yes. Again," he demanded.

"I love you."

"Again."

"I love you…"

He kissed her then, full on the lips, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his body to hers. "Say it again," he breathed between kisses, devouring her skin with his mouth, hastily pulling off her clothes, leaving her barely able to breathe, much less gasp out the words he demanded. "Again, my pet. Please."

"I love you – ah!" She gasped in pleasure at the way he was kissing her, the way he was touching her. It was …different, somehow, than all their times before. She couldn't exactly tell how, but … she liked it. Loved it.

Loved _him_.

And he didn't seem to mind hearing it either. In fact, the words seemed to be an aphrodisiac, and the more she said them, the more passionate he became, as he scooped her up, as he pressed her eagerly onto the bed, and he kissed and caressed her with an urgent and greedy hunger.

"You're mine," he growled, stroking her wetness, devouring her moans with kisses. "You're mine. Always." He stopped and looked at her.

"Say it. Believe it. You're mine. You belong to me."

She could refuse him nothing. Especially not when his fingers were doing _that_ …she let out a little whimper of delight.

"I'm yours," she breathed, "I belong to you. Yours, Sweeney, yours."

"Always?  
"Always. I love you, and I'm yours. Always…"

"Yes." Wild, frantic kisses and caresses, and she moaned loudly as he entered her, their lust and their need more intense than ever. He thrust into her, hard, fast, desperate, reveling in the joy of joining their bodies again, experiencing a bliss that was (though he'd never admit it) even more intense and pleasurable than taking his revenge. She was almost crying with the beauty of it, feeling so good it was almost too much to bear. She was close and so was he, and they came together, for the first time, climaxing violently in one another's arms, collapsing together in exhausted contentment.

They lay in each other's arms, and as she was succumbing to sleep, she heard him whisper, "Say it again."

"I love you," she whispered back, holding him tighter and kissing him softly. "I love you, and I'm yours. Always."

A/N: Well, I hope I managed to keep it Sweenett will still keeping Todd IC. Please review, and Happy New Year!


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